Are your spirits soaring now,
You gods of embarassment?
Are your holy thrones created,
From the grief of others?

Do you force others to bow,
And worship you, with both knees bent?
While you laugh at hope deflated
Even from sisters and brothers?

For shattered glass, it has no use
And words can be greatly abused
Little comfort comes to one
Who feels your heartless sting.

But spare me your apologies,
For words are dust upon a breeze,
And I shant hear them anyway,
For I am shattered glass.

And shattered glass, it has no ears.
And shattered glass it has no hope.
Shattered glass, no longer cares
To deal with your cruelest jokes.

But for the future, let my words
Cause you to think before you speak
Before a soul comes along
Whose Christian foundation is weak.

And denies the faith for lack of care
Shown by you to one who dares
To hope that something special dwells
In those who claim Christ’s name.

So call me hypersensitive,
Or a thousand other things,
But still this simple fact remains,
Devastation – your actions bring.

Copyright ©2002 Robert Adkisson

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